Red Nose Day is a good thing, but that won’t stop the moaning

Telethons are like line-dancing – boring and embarrassing unless you join
in
, writes Robert Webb.

Comic Relief’s Red Nose Day is next Friday and it already feels like the build-up to a general election. The tendency towards media saturation is one thing they have in common, along with the potential for seeing public figures getting a bucket of baked beans tipped over their heads. Now, I like general elections (the next one, in particular, can’t come too swiftly for me) and I like Comic Relief, but there is something about both that brings out the inner curmudgeon.

We know that democracy and charitable giving are Good Things, but we reserve the right to moan about both. The reason for election fatigue is obvious enough: politicians. During an election, we have to spend five times longer than usual experiencing the dead phrases, unctuous grins, dodgy spin, manufactured urgency, mirthless jokes, insulting evasions and ponderous pseudo-wisdom of Nick Robinson. And the people he’s interviewing aren’t much better. I once heard Comic Relief co-founder Richard Curtis talking in public about politicians and television: “The only time they watch is to watch themselves. No wonder they think it’s so bloody awful.”

But the reasons for an aversion to Red Nose Day are more complicated and, I dare say, interesting. As a supporter and participant, I think it might be worth having a look at this, if only to put these objections into perspective.

For one thing, a telethon is like line-dancing: boring and embarrassing unless you actually join in (see also: orgies). As a family, we never really “did” telethons. You know those repeated moments when you’re watching Children in Need or Comic Relief and some famous person says something like, “You, sat at home, enjoying all this marvellous entertainment; you, who still haven’t called in to pledge any money – you know who you are – well, please call now. Call now. Call. Just call. Call. And if you don’t call: call. You know who you are: call!”

Well, that was us. We never called. In the 1980s, we would sit through the whole thing in mounting embarrassment, sofa flotsam compacting under fingernails every time Sue Cook’s face threatened to go all earnest.

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You basically contract to hand over some cash or you’re just going to get told off for 12 hours. How I used to hate Rag Week at university: hearty types in blazers and shorts, suddenly emboldened to cajole everyone to Sellotape themselves naked to a traffic cone in the name of “a worthy cause”. Give me a break! Organised charity events, like practical jokes, are attractive to bullies and people with no sense of humour. The unfortunate irony of Comic Relief is that people who are reluctant to sign up for two days of being power-sprayed with mushy peas, for example, run the risk of being accused of exactly that: not having a sense of humour. If you like that kind of thing, then good luck. For me, it’s a quiet word with a telephone and a credit card. Either that or a gigantically ostentatious collision with a wig and a leotard. More of that below.

There are sillier objections. “It lets the government off the hook.” This has always struck me as a cop-out. Shall I not help a struggling mum carry a buggy up the stairs in order to send London Underground a powerful message that they should install a lift? And of course, Mr Cameron will find an opportunity to muscle in: “I’d just like to pay tribute, actually, to the terrific generosity of the British public.” Oh, please. He’s only just out of blazers and shorts himself.

Then there’s: “The comedy turns followed by the moving films from Africa make for an uncomfortable juxtaposition.” Yes, they do. Pity the presenters that have to perform these crunching gear changes several times an hour, like Esther Rantzen on That’s Life moving from multiple sclerosis to penis-shaped aubergines in the blink of some teeth. But also, who cares? Embrace the inherently icky!

Against these heavy charges is the fact that Comic Relief has, since 1985, raised more than £650 million. The mosquito nets sent in the past couple of years to Uganda alone mean that many thousands of people, who would otherwise be dead, are now going to school, reading, writing, working, falling in love and having families. I think this might even be worth watching the television for. Comic Relief also has a strong reputation within the charity sector for monitoring and reviewing the effects of the work it does. Like a good doctor, first they do no harm.

I’ll be appearing briefly tonight on Let’s Dance for Comic Relief in my semi-official capacity as the Aslan of that competition. Do vote. And if you don’t vote: do.

If you’d like to make a donation, or just see a video of me in that leotard, go to www.rednoseday.com